


Do I Wanna Know?

by ViolentAddict



Series: Blessed Be the Boys Time Can't Capture [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Clint and Nat make a cute married couple, M/M, Maybe a new series, Omega Bucky Barnes, Rekindling Old Flames, Slight depiction of violence, Tony Stark being Tony Stark, no powers, not sure
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-01-29 09:32:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolentAddict/pseuds/ViolentAddict
Summary: Steve hasn't been the best person in the world to the people he cared about the most during his college years. Now, he's determined to set things right and make amends.When Bucky, the omega Steve loved and the reason he left in the first place, arrives at Clint and Nat's reunion party with a husband in tow, Steve feels like a fool for expecting anything could ever happen between them.But not everything that glitters is gold. Bucky's keeping a secret about his marriage, one that he's ashamed of and has been keeping to himself for years.Bucky's private life shouldn't be Steve's business, but maybe these old feelings haven't died. Steve just wants to help, if Bucky would just let him...But can Steve make Bucky trust alphas again? There's a lot of damage and debris lying in their path to happiness, but will they learn to see the beauty in the broken pieces or the distress in the destruction?





	1. Longing

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a smutty oneshot to add to the Omegaverse Stucky series but instead plot happened. 
> 
> I want to thank you all for the support and love you've shown my fics! It means so much to me. <3
> 
> If you're new to my stories, please stick around, put your feet up and get comfortable.
> 
> I adore you all! Please enjoy.
> 
> Note: Story title from Arctic Monkey's "Do I Wanna Know?" which partly inspired this fic. And series title from "The Kids Aren't Alright" by Fall Out Boy.

The man staring back at him through his car’s side mirror is not even the least bit pleased.  Though he’s the perfect picture of neat and refined, dressed in his work suit with his blond hair smoothed down into a decent coif, the agitation in his gaze betrays any suggestion of sophistication. 

There is nothing Steve wants more than to be swallowed up by the ground and transported to somewhere other than here. 

He was foolish to come. 

There’s a reason he doesn’t do parties, for one thing they aren’t exactly the kind of forgiving environments for the socially inept. And the next, they aren’t the kind of place a well respected alpha like him belongs. 

He should be at home, pumping iron or checking in with Gary to make sure he’s prepared for the Sanderson meeting tomorrow. At the very least he should be getting a good night’s rest so he can be refreshed and focused. Instead, he’s here, standing outside of his old college friends’ house, waiting to be invited in so this long, sure to be embarrassing night can begin.

Why’d he accept Clint’s invite anyways? He had to be the only idiot who actually followed through with spontaneous plans made with barely remembered people. 

At least he can say, if anyone were to interrogate him, that he intended to come for the food, the laughter, the beer and the company. Because who could deny that perfect recipe for enjoyment? 

No one would question him or be close to knowing the real truth. The truth that is somehow urging him to leave but forcing him to stay at the same time. 

Clint had smiled. “Steve you have to come! Everyone will be there. I’m talking Sam, Tony, Thor, Scott, even Bucky. It’s been ages and--” But Clint could have been speaking Thai as far as Steve was concerned.  _ Bucky _ , Steve had repeated the name in his head and it brought back memories and feelings he buried a long time ago. 

Though it’s been eight years, Steve still remembers Bucky’s rejection like it was yesterday. “I can’t be with an alpha. I’m sorry, Steve.” It hurt like hell back then and still kind of stings now, but Steve isn’t here for revenge. Actually, the real reason is more pathetic than that: he’s here because he’s desperate to know what Bucky’s been up to since they graduated.

Bucky was always such a headstrong, goal-oriented omega, it never failed to impress Steve. It was one of the reasons Steve was so attracted to him; he wasn’t like other omegas. He resisted numerous alphas and worked hard to ensure he wouldn’t end up marked and mated without having his life in order first. It was inspirational.

He sincerely hopes Bucky got the life he always wanted. The life he truly deserves.

Clearing his throat, he knocks on the Barton’s front door. It swings open to reveal Natasha standing on the other side. She frowns in confusion before her whole face lights up in recognition. “Steve, my god, it’s been years!”

He barely has a chance to cough out a “Hi,” before he’s pulled into a hug. “Thank you so much for coming! You’re early by the way. We weren’t expecting people for the next half hour.”

“Force of habit.” He smiles.

She gives him a once over, smirking as she takes in his overly professional appearance. “You’re a tad overdressed, don’t you think?” she asks, leading him through the house. It’s cozy and smells faintly of cinnamon. 

“I’m actually coming from work,” he explains. 

“Oh right, Clint tells me you’re a CEO now. That’s impressive,” Natasha says, nodding. She slides open the door to the back patio where the omega is lounging in a chair by the pool, a beer in his hands and a contented smile on his face. 

Nat rolls her eyes affectionately. “I think he’s a little buzzed,” she says before striding over to her husband. 

Steve watches the punch drunk in love look cross Clint’s face as he sees her saunter to him and he makes room for her to sit in his lap. Nat wraps her arms around his neck once she reaches him, giving him a brief kiss before she gestures for Steve to come over. 

The lights from the pool illuminate their faces, making their glee more pronounced and Steve feels a bit awkward, as if he’s witnessing a private moment that isn’t for his eyes.

They met back at Northwestern, Clint and Nat, Sam was the guy who encouraged him to ask her out. It wasn’t long before they became inseparable.

The diamond on Nat’s finger gleams happily. 

Figuring he’s been standing there long enough, Steve drifts over to them. “Congratulations by the way. I know I’m pretty late on the uptake.”

Clint grins. “Only for about three years, but it’s fine. We should have sent an invitation.”

“I’ve been kind of solitary these past few years, I don’t blame you. I’ve been trying to redeem myself from that hard-headed alpha I was back in college,” Steve admits.

Clint shrugs. “You’d win extra brownie points if you help me finish with the party prep,” he barters.

“Could you be any more transparent?” Nat complains but her expression holds amusement. She rises off of his lap and strides back to the house. “If you guys need me, I’ll be making Sangria.”

Clint motions for Steve to sit beside him on another lounge chair. He obliges, staring across the water of the pool at the huge expanse they call a backyard. The lawn is perfectly manicured. The wooden fence is lined with fairy lights that end where the yard tapers off into a rose garden. A circular fountain sits proudly amongst the flowers, glowing from the bulbs fixed in a ring around it. 

“You guys did great for yourselves,” he remarks.

Clint smiles, bright and bold. “Thank you. But enough about us, how’s life for you Mr. CEO? Found a nice omega to settle down with, yet? We aren’t getting any younger.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not yet. I’m still waiting for the right one.”

Clint nods. “I remember when you had that crush on Bucky. That guy didn’t seem interested in anyone, but I thought you had a shot.” He puts a hand on his chin, lost in thought.

“What ever happened to him?” Steve asks, but the words come out a little too eager. “I mean, he was so determined to break free from the life his parents wanted for him.”

Clint sighs. “Things don’t always go the way we plan them to.”

Steve wants to ask him what he means by that, but Nat calls them inside to greet the guests that are just arriving. To Steve’s disappointment, Clint says no more.

* * *

 

Sam arrives with Scott, both of them holding bottles of vodka and whiskey. They stroll in as Clint and Steve reach the house. 

“Heyo,” Clint greets them. 

There’s not even a hint of awkwardness. It’s obvious in the way Sam and Scott smile and hug Nat and Clint and the way they move around the house like they practically live in it, that they come here often.

Regret floods Steve as he realizes that it would probably be like that for him too if he made more of an effort. 

Luckily, Scott and Sam, like Nat and Clint, apparently hold no ill feelings toward him. They welcome him back in the pack as if he never took himself out. 

Mostly everyone is cool with him trying to repair ties, including Thor and Bruce. Tony is the only one who isn’t impressed by his reemergence.

“So we’re just going to forget that this is the same guy who left us hanging for almost a whole decade? Yeah, last time I checked friends didn’t let money and success get to their heads,” Tony says, tapping away on his cellphone without making eye contact with anyone. 

“Tony, that’s not fair. Steve is obviously trying.” Nat frowns. 

Steve sighs. So it’s going to be  _ that  _ kind of night. “Is there something you want to say to me, Tony?”

He stops fiddling with his cellphone and points his unreadable dark eyes at Steve. “I have nothing to say to you.” He turns to the room of people. “Right, if anyone needs me, I’ll be outside by the pool.”

“Some things never change,” Steve mumbles watching Tony’s retreating form.

“His father’s funeral was tough for him. I think he wanted you to be there,” Nat whispers.

“I should go talk to him.” He’s about to go to the backyard when Clint stops him.

“I wouldn’t. He just needs time,” Clint says. “Nat’s got the music and the drinks, I’m going to need a hand with the wings. Still up for it?”

Steve nods, grateful for the distraction and follows Clint to the kitchen.

* * *

 

Steve gets more and more comfortable as the night progresses. Being around everyone again, it’s easy to remember why he was so close to them in the first place; they’re great company.

He’s at home here, more at home than he’s ever been...anywhere. He isn’t being judged or sized up or anything like how it is being surrounded by only alphas. Here, he isn’t Steve Rogers CEO of Dawson Holdings LLC. Instead, he’s just Steve and that’s more than enough.

He almost forgot what it was like to not have to work hard to be accepted. It’s definitely pleasant.

He forgets about the whole world, lost in a game of pool with Scott and Sam down in Clint’s man cave (which is the cool way of saying his basement upgraded with a few amenities) when the doorbell rings upstairs and Nat’s voice can be heard crying out Bucky’s name. 

Steve stops mid-strike and stiffens. His brain short-circuiting for a second.  _ Bucky’s here. _

It’s hard to hear what Nat’s saying over the music blasting throughout the house so Steve abandons the game, yelling a quick “sorry” to Sam and Scott. 

He almost collides with a few people as he races up the stairs. Gently pushing past them, he tries to get closer. He’s inches away from the foyer when the familiar scent of sin and smoke wraps itself around him.  _ Bucky’s scent. _

The same aroma that used to drive him mad with desire every day in college. That made it hard to focus on anything else but Bucky. It was a drug to him; he couldn’t ever get enough. Now that his body’s getting reintroduced to it, it’s stronger, more powerful but so, so  _ good. _

Steve cranes his neck to get a better view of the omega. He’s a vision; beautiful in ways it hurts Steve to think about. Upon seeing him again, the memories return fierce and fast, for once unbounded by the chains Steve put in place to hold them. 

“You’re a great guy, but you’re an alpha,” Bucky says, shaking his head. It’s evident that his mind’s already made up.

Steve doesn’t know what else to do other than beg. “Bucky, please. Give me a chance.”

But Bucky isn’t hearing it. “I’m sorry, but we can’t. If that’s too much for you then maybe you shouldn’t be friends with me.” His eyes are hard. The words hang in the air like heavy storm clouds. Bucky never takes them back.

In the end, Steve did what was best for his sanity and his friend. 

But some demons never die.

Nat turns around, her eyes scanning the crowd of people for Steve. He comes over to them as she gestures and tries his best to act naturally as possible.

“Steve?” Bucky blinks. “It’s been...way too long.”

“Tell me about it. How’s life been treating you?” he asks, studying Bucky’s face. He looks unmarred by life’s pressures. Handsome as the day Steve first laid eyes on him.

“It could be better,” Bucky admits. “Still isn’t great out there for an omega.”

Nat excuses herself to go help Thor with the nachos while they chat. 

Steve nods. “But you’re getting by?” he wonders aloud.

Bucky shrugs. “I guess.”

“There’s no fucking parking space anywhere,” someone mutters bursting through the open front door to stand beside Bucky. He’s an alpha, a big one at that. He glares at Steve, seeming almost disgusted by the presence of another alpha.

“Brock, can you stop complaining? It’s a party. Try to have fun,” Bucky stage whispers.

“Yeah, yeah. Who’s this?” His eyes take in Steve’s suit. “You’re a ways away from Wall Street, pal.”

Bucky sighs. “Brock this is Steve, my old friend. Steve, this is my husband, Brock.”

Steve nearly chokes on perfectly good air. Did Bucky just say--about Brock? And then it clicks. Clint had a friend named Brock, an alpha no one liked. Wasn’t his name Rumlow or something? Wait... no goddamn way. Brock fucking Rumlow is married to Bucky! How in fresh hell?

“We met at Northwestern,” Bucky explains.

Steve simply nods. “I see. Well, I think I’m going to have a glass of whiskey. It was nice seeing you two!” He zips off to the bar where Bruce and Tony are making cocktails. 

“I’ll have the strongest drink you got.”

* * *

 

He’s only a little tipsy, definitely not enough for him to be knockout drunk. Apparently, his tolerance has increased since his college days.  _ Great. Simply fantastic. _ He goes outside to sit by the pool, trying not to think about...anything.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting out there when suddenly someone takes the lounge chair beside him. It makes a noise as it drags across the ground.

“Beautiful night, huh?” Bucky rumbles, pausing to take a small sip of his beer. “I’m glad I came.”

“Sure is,” Steve mutters. He pauses, then: “Jesus, you’re  _ married _ . All this time and I didn’t know. What happened to that whole “I don’t date alphas” thing?”

Bucky’s eyes fall to his lap. “It’s a long story.”

Steve grits his teeth. “You don’t know how long I waited, praying you’d change your mind.” 

“You were long gone when I did.” The words are rushed but Steve hears them clear as day.

“I’ve been spending the years trying to make up for being an asshole alpha,” Steve explains.

Bucky scoffs. “You didn’t need to do that. You’re the last person who should have to apologize for being an alpha.”

Steve searches Bucky’s eyes for signs of deception. Relief billows within him when he doesn’t find any. “Buck, there’s something you should know.”

Bucky tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “You’re over me?” But he looks wary.

Steve chuckles. “Not quite.”

They are interrupted by someone, drunk out of their mind, striding over to them with little care for their conversation. By the sloppy way he says Bucky’s name, it’s no question it’s Brock. Steve makes an effort not to show his distaste.

“Bucky, come dance with me.” It’s more of a command than a question.

“Brock, can’t you see I’m catching up with an old friend? Do you mind?” Bucky doesn’t even turn to look at the alpha.

Brock grabs his shoulder. “You’re too good to dance with your husband now? Just ditch this stiff and--”

Bucky rises to his feet. “No!” He isn’t as impressive in stature as Brock, but it’s still a brave thing for an omega to do. It takes awhile for the comprehension to cross Brock’s face and then he’s grabbing Bucky again, this time much harder from the looks of it. “What did you say to me?”

Steve rises to his feet. “Back off him!” He shoves Brock who lets go of Bucky immediately and tries to swing at Steve. He dodges it but instead of punching back Steve shoves him again, right into the pool. “That’ll sober you up.”

Sam runs toward them after witnessing the commotion. “Is everything alright?”

Steve shakes his head, pointing in Brock’s direction. “He was giving Bucky trouble.”

“He probably had too much to drink,” Sam observes. 

Bucky, who’s been quiet this whole time, shakes his head. “He’s not that much different sober,” he murmurs, eyes glued to Rumlow in the pool.

“Jesus. I’m sorry,” Steve says. “Seems like your alpha discrimination was warranted.”

Bucky just huffs out a mirthless laugh.

“Do you need a ride home? You don’t live that far from here do you, Bucky?” Sam asks, trying to get the omega to look at him. 

“I’ll drop him. That is, if you don’t mind, Buck?” Steve reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder but the omega winces. So the alpha quickly pulls his arm back.

“You guys go ahead, I’ll make sure Brock sobers up. Have a good night.” Sam turns to the pool where Rumlow is slowly crawling out. 

When they’re back inside, Steve turns to Bucky, aiming to keep his voice calm and level. “Are you okay?”

Bucky nods. “Now you know our lives can’t be compared.”

“Bucky, we can get you help. You don’t have to live with that jerk,” Steve urges. 

Bucky winces as if Steve slapped him. “I’m fine.”

“How--how long?” Steve asks. He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer.

“Please don’t ask me that,” Bucky begs. So Steve lets it go...for now.

When they are finally in the car, after Bucky says his goodbyes to everyone, Steve attempts to make small talk but the omega isn’t having it. “Don’t feel sorry for me,” Bucky pleads.

It catches Steve off guard. “It’s not pity Bucky. It’s sympathy. That son of a bitch has no business putting his hands on you.”

Bucky says nothing more about the subject, so Steve gives it a rest. With Bucky’s directions they pull into a suburban neighborhood in front of a nice contemporary. “Thanks,” Bucky mumbles, unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Buck,” Steve begins. He rummages in the glove compartment for some paper and a pen and jots down a few numbers. “This is my cell and my work phone. If you ever need to talk, don’t hesitate to call.”

Bucky nods and a tiny hint of a smile quirks his lips. “Thank you, Steve.” And with that he’s gone.

That night as he’s talking to Thor about the upcoming football game, Steve gets a text:  _ Don’t get yourself tied up in this. I can handle myself. Trust me. - Bucky _  
  



	2. Rusted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be  
> Right in front of me, talk some sense to me..."
> 
> \- 'I Found', Amber Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Thank you for the comments, kudos, subscribing, all of that! I am so happy that you guys are enjoying this story! <333
> 
> It took me awhile to write this because I needed to get in the right headspace and really plot out how this story was going to go. I wanted to treat the subject of domestic violence with the sensitivity and care that it deserves. 
> 
> If any of this is potentially triggering, please click out and read something else. The last thing I'd want is anyone getting triggered by my fic, especially by accident. So take care of yourselves. Also, please remember, you guys brighten my life so much! I adore hearing your thoughts and getting to respond to you! Stay great!
> 
> I owe so much to @Reglee for the much needed help with this chapter. Without you, I shudder to think of what it would be. Thank you!
> 
> Enjoy everyone!

“This darkness is found as an absence of light  
You believe there is no devil 'cause he's roped you in so tight.”

\-- “Loose Change for the Boatman”, King Charles

 

The Sanderson meeting goes well. Steve isn’t the least bit surprised; he always closes deals quickly and efficiently. Some say it’s his charm that gets people to give in, some say it’s his good looks that makes it easier to trust him, but to Steve, it’s all about timing. Knowing the right moment to make your proposal is as necessary to winning over a prospective investor as knowing when to swing is in golf.

He has many other strategies he demonstrates when trying to close a deal, some he only brings out when he has a tough group. His big guns. It’s why he’s the boss; no one can seal a deal quite like him. Everyone else breaks under the immense pressure of working here. Even the temps appear to be going crazy after just one week, but this is his habitat. A lion in his cave. There’s nothing this job can throw at him that he can’t handle.

Even though he is highly respected, he knows that many people wonder about his personal life. _After all, he is human,_ they figure. _He must be seeing someone. Everyone has urges._ Gary, his right hand man, often attempts to pry but Steve keeps his lips sealed.

The last and only person he dated out of college was Sharon. It was brief and unsatisfying to say the least. She was a smart, attractive beta, but he only dated her to keep up appearances.

Though he had many women _and_ men lusting after him, no one filled that place that Bucky had hollowed out. It wasn’t weak to admit your feelings were reserved for someone else--there was no shame in that. But it was absolutely mortifying if anyone found out just how opposed to being his mate that the person he was saving that position for was.

So he kept up the act of being too busy, too married to the job to go out in search of a mate. However, Sharon never bought it and thus was the root of their arguments.

Many times he tried to just forget Bucky, but that proved impossible.

Clint’s party only proved that his feelings never died. That they were always here, always alive within him. They struggled against the chains he put in place to hold them down, and they may have had their moments of rest, but they never quit their relentless attack against his better judgment.

He sits in his office chair, staring at the soft blue Chicago sky, and wonders what Bucky’s busy doing. _Don’t get yourself tied up in this. I can handle myself. Trust me._

He grips the handle of his coffee mug so tight it cracks. He’ll respect Bucky’s wishes, but he’d be damned if Brock ever puts his hands on him again and expects to live. Omegas may not have as many rights as everyone else, but they’re still human beings. If that damn Rumlow can’t see Bucky’s worth, he’d have to teach him a thing or two…

* * *

 

“You mind telling me what the hell all that was about?” Brock asks, they’re in the dining room, having dinner. They had this conversation earlier today when Sam drove Brock home. He was sober when Sam helped him inside, Bucky waiting for him like a good wife. Brock hadn’t appeared to even see him. The alpha was irritated at Steve’s intervention and in that mood where he was tempted to break things. Bucky had told him to sleep it off and Brock obliged, but when he woke up, his attitude hadn’t changed much at all.

Bucky cleaned while Brock slept, and even cooked and served dinner early. He hoped Brock would just let the whole incident with Steve go, but it was a vain hope.

“Brock, I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Bucky says. He’s fed up with this conversation and all he wants to do is have a nice, peaceful evening. That isn’t too much to ask for, is it?

But Brock isn’t having it. “Just who does that stiff think he is anyways? Mr. CEO my ass! He isn’t as impressive as he thinks.” His gaze meets Bucky’s and his eyes reflect pure, unadulterated hatred. It makes Bucky flinch.

“He’s an old friend. You can’t exactly blame him, you were acting ridiculous,” Bucky tells him.

“ _I_ was acting ridiculous? I got news for you Buck, you didn’t marry him. You married _me_! You don’t get to choose anyone’s side but your husband’s!”

Bucky says nothing, hoping this will all blow over.

“I know what you’re going to say! That I’m a mistake! Why don’t you, you wouldn’t be better than my lowlife father!”

“Brock--”

The alpha huffs and slams a fist on the table. _So much for a peaceful evening,_ Bucky thinks. He tries to ignore the theatrical production Brock is making in their dining room, but his heart is pounding wildly in his chest. He’s scared, that’s it. Brock is like an earthquake, terrible and destructive, and leaves nothing but debris in his wake.

 _Slam!_ Brock’s fist comes down on the table again and Bucky trembles. The earth is shattering into pieces and he’s standing above the epicenter. He can’t move, can’t run, the world is crumbling and he is trapped.

“Are you even listening to me?” the alpha snarls.

Bucky nods mechanically. “Y-yes, Brock. I should have chosen your side. I’m sorry.” That’s usually all it takes. Brock will shut up and eat his dinner and they will go back to being a happy couple...Until something else happens to upset him and then this whole song and dance starts over. But Bucky doesn’t like to think like that. It’s not like Brock _means_ to get upset, it just happens.

“I heard you were offered a ride by that Steve prick and you said yes. What the hell were you thinking Buck?” Brock presses. “Did you have any idea how that would make me _look?_ How it would make me _feel?_ ”

Bucky cringes and bites down on his lip. His hands thrown up in surrender. “I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to get home.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “What’s so great about him anyways? I bet you sure liked his fancy car, didn’t you Bucky?”

“I didn’t notice it.”

“Bullshit!” _Crash!_ A glass shatters as Brock throws it into the nearest wall.

“You think this is all a game? How can I humiliate Brock more huh?”

“I don’t see why you’re getting so mad. It’s not like... _I-I chose him._ ” Bucky’s voice falls to a whisper. The noise stops and their eyes meet.

Bucky doesn’t get to brace himself before Brock gets to him, almost instantly. All he remembers is sitting at the table and suddenly being hoisted to his feet by Brock. “You keep forgetting all I’ve done for you! That you wouldn’t be anywhere if weren’t for me!”

Hard hands wrap around his throat and it becomes hard to breathe. Brock keeps yelling but it’s as if Bucky’s under water. Brock’s shouting is muffled by the sound of Bucky’s pulse hammering behind his ears. There’s a raw ache as oxygen escapes his lungs.

“Brock, stop!” he chokes out. It doesn’t seem as if the alpha even hears him. And then it occurs to him--he’s going to die, he’s going to die by the hands of the one person he would have bet more than anything loved him. What a way to go...


	3. Furnace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had always heard that dying was supposed to be somewhat beautiful. There isn’t anything beautiful about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> Thank you so much for the support and love! I hadn't realized I took so long to update this! I promise I'm trying to get my crap together. :)
> 
> More to come soon!

He had always heard that dying was supposed to be somewhat beautiful. There isn’t anything beautiful about this. As the bleak fog threatens to take over his conscious and submerge him into darkness, he idly wonders if something spectacular should happen during his final moments. But angels don’t sing, there aren’t any blinking lights, and worst of all, memories of his life don’t flash before his eyes. There is nothing but emptiness and it causes the torment throughout his body to take a backseat to the agony in his chest.  

Everything moves in a quick, hazy blur. One second, Bucky’s trying his hardest to stop Brock’s strong, hateful hands from crushing his windpipe and then the next, he’s on the ground, panicking because everything is going black and he’s losing feeling in his limbs. 

The blazing pain searing his throat feels like it’s never going to let up, even though from the watery image his eyes can see, Brock isn’t choking him anymore. In fact, Brock is nowhere to be found. Bucky’s alone.

Somewhere under all the panic and fear, in his mind, a thought escapes:  _ that’s it? He’s just left me to die like this? He doesn’t even care to call anyone. _ He attempts a deep breath to prepare himself to at least move, but all it does is cause blood to fill his mouth and more pain to rack the mangled mess that is his throat. 

Tears come to his eyes as he tries to assess the extent of the damage done, and he weeps silently because everything  _ hurts _ . There’s no relief in sight save for the fog. It seems to be all-encompassing and it’s getting harder to fight it, and yet, there’s a part of Bucky that’s clinging to consciousness. A part that just won’t give up despite all evidence that suggests he should. That there is nothing left in his life worth fighting for.

As he’s lying there, waiting for his body and mind to come to an agreement, heavy footsteps head towards him. Bucky closes his eyes and tries to will his mouth to speak. Hoping that Brock will forget his anger and spare Bucky the mercy of having a fair fight with death, Bucky attempts to beg him to call someone, anyone who can help. 

But the words come out garbled. Brock doesn’t seem to even hear him. Instead, he is on his knees, hovering over Bucky, hands clasped in prayer. His lips are moving so fast as he whispers the words that are supposed to absolve him of his sins. All Bucky can make out are “forgive me, please”. At that, pure disgust fills Bucky, and he closes his eyes again, aiming to block Brock out completely. 

The fog returns, stronger than ever, and Bucky, who is getting weaker every moment that passes, feels powerless to stop it from consuming him. He valiantly fights once more and relishes in the victory when the fog recedes a little. Brock is still praying, but the sound of the doorbell interrupts him. He curses and stumbles, but to Bucky’s gratitude he goes to see who’s at the door.

On instinct, Bucky’s eyes slide open and the erratic  _ thump thump thump _ of his wavering heartbeat is drowned out by the delicate murmur of two people speaking.

Bucky tries to scream and in his mind, he’s thrashing violently on the floor, yet on the outside he remains motionless. Frustrated and mad, he focuses on listening to the murmur, seeing if he can make out anything. 

Maybe this person will help him or maybe they won’t care.  _ No one can help me. _

“Brock,” a shy voice says. Bucky doesn’t immediately recognize it, but with much effort and a lot of attempts to block out the distracting agony, the creeping chill in his limbs and the looming, menacing fog, he realizes it’s their neighbor Jimmy. “Marcy and I heard some commotion and we were wondering if you two were okay.”

“Oh, everything’s alright.” At the sound of Brock’s voice, bile churns in his stomach. “Bucky and I were just having an argument, really. Nothing to worry about.” He sounds so natural, like he’s been doing this every day for years. 

Somehow, despite Brock’s impeccable delivery, Jimmy doesn’t sound convinced. “Well you see, it sounded like that at first, but then the shouting got louder. . .we heard a crash. . .”

There’s a brief pause before Brock’s chuckling and Bucky wants to hit something. “Well, Bucky’s a butterfingers and he broke a plate. Kinda what got him upset in the first place, you know.”

Hot, scorching anger seeps into his bloodstream and suddenly he’s coughing, trying to call out, but it’s getting choked off as his lungs protest for air and his throat fills with more blood. 

The fog comes back to cloud his mind and suddenly, the pain isn’t so potent anymore. It drowns out the agony in favor of offering him a taste of that long, painless slumbler. 

Jimmy laughs and it sounds too loud in Bucky’s quickly shrinking conscious. “Well, gee. I’m sorry to bother you then. It seems like everything’s okay with you two. Everyone has lover’s quarrels, it’s normal.”

“J-Jimmy--” Bucky gives one last attempt to call out before he runs out of time. There’s a pause as their friendly neighbor stops talking. “What was that?” 

Brock tries to cover it up. “What was what?”

But Jimmy doesn’t give him another chance. There’s the sound of a scuffle as Jimmy attempts to rush inside the house. 

“Oh my god! We’re getting you to a hospital!” Jimmy cries as he sees Bucky, on the floor, beaten and bruised, for the first time. And then he turns to Brock who looks like a deer in headlights. “You can bet I’m calling the police!”

Bucky doesn’t even have time to feel victorious, because as soon as he’s in Jimmy’s arms, the room begins to spin violently and his body trembles in anguish. As Jimmy holds him through the tremors, Bucky spots Brock in a far corner of the room, nursing a black eye. In one hand, he’s holding a picture of him and Bucky on their wedding day. Brock looks content in the picture, but Bucky barely recognizes himself.

In Jimmy’s arms he weeps for the man he lost, the stranger staring back at him in the picture, the stranger who stares back at him in the mirror every morning, and the stranger he shares his bed with. He doesn’t have to wonder where it all went wrong because he knows, it had never gone right in the first place. 


	4. Daybreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart."  
>  \- 'Howl', Florence and the Machine
> 
>  
> 
> The only thing he wants is blood and he won’t stop until he spills some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Okay, so I wrote this and edited it several times. I'm all hopped up on Red Bull and too many sad songs, but I wanted to post this because if I don't, I might end up second guessing myself later and deleting it completely. So here, enjoy some more angst lol. 
> 
> Thank you for the kudos/follows/subscribes/comments, for reading in general! I appreciate you guys so much! 
> 
> Much love!! <3 <3 <3

His hands are shaking so badly he can’t keep his car keys still. They make a  _ jingle jangle _ silvery sound as they shudder in his palms. 

Steve doesn’t know what he looks like right now, but he’s sure he must look absolutely terrifying with the way everyone seems to be staring at him with poorly concealed fear in their eyes. They immediately clear a path upon spotting him, trying to make themselves as small as possible, and don’t even mutter a word as he passes by. 

He can’t find it within himself to care about what impression he’s giving, or the fact that no one in the entire Dawson establishment has ever seen him so wild with fury like this before. He doesn’t even care about what message it’s probably sending to the staff that the CEO who has never taken so much as a sick day, is leaving work early on a personal matter with the vaguest explanation. The only thing he cares about is getting in his car so he can find Rumlow and rip him to shreds.

Natasha was trying to hold it together when she called him that afternoon, but he could tell as soon as he picked up the phone, that something was terribly wrong. Her voice was rougher, like she’d been crying, and she kept pausing as if the words she was trying to say were getting stuck and she couldn’t force them. 

“It’s Bucky, Steve. He’s--something’s happened.” There had been the sound of pure chaos around her, and her voice was wavering. 

Steve immediately felt his blood turn to ice. “What-what happened?”

“He’s hurt. Brock-- _ god _ \--Brock attacked him and. . .I don’t know. . .how far away are you?” Before he could answer, there was a fumbling sound as the phone changed hands and then Sam’s voice filtered through the speaker. 

Steve had never heard Sam sound so. . .broken. “Bucky’s condition, man. . .it’s not--not. . .” He never finished his sentence. In his moment of restraint, in that pause, Steve understood everything as if Sam had said a million words, without saying one. 

There was no coaxing the rational side of Steve to return after that, because that part was long gone. Now, as he speeds through streets he would usually take a second to admire, and some he wouldn’t look twice at, the only thing he sees is red. The only thing he wants is blood and he won’t stop until he spills some. 

Rumlow, the pitiful sack of shit that he is, seems to know what’s coming for him because he’s sitting outside on his and Bucky’s front porch looking every bit as sad and pathetic as a man who has fallen as far as one can fall. 

Steve doesn’t give him a chance to speak. He simply slams down on the brakes, climbs out of his car and marches over to him. Rumlow doesn’t put up a fight, not that he’d even stand a chance against Steve. Instead, before Steve, who grabs the collar of his shirt and stares bloody murder into his eyes, can land the first punch, Rumlow says: “Don’t do something you’ll regret, pal.” His eyes don’t hold any challenge or warning, just sorrow, but Steve doesn’t allow any of that to sway him.

He does allow himself to laugh though, and it comes out hollow and mirthless, because it’s such a ridiculously stupid thing to say given the circumstances. Maybe Rumlow’s insane, or maybe he is. Either way, this is going to feel  _ good _ . 

He leans his head down to whisper dangerously in the other alpha’s face, “Trust me,  _ pal _ ,” he emphasizes, voice dripping with acid. “I won’t regret this.” And then he hurls the first blow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang tight!
> 
> More to come soon! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I will be updating this series as much as I can as well as my other Omegaverse series! Stay tuned for more! <3 you guys!


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